The term “dead-ass” has proliferated in casual conversation in recent years. It seems that I can’t walk through Smith or eat at Moulton without hearing this disgusting phrase. It’s not that I can’t stomach discussions about ass or that I believe the concept of death is hackneyed. The problem is that I can’t help but cringe when I imagine someone whose ass has actually died having to listen to some insensitive millennial incessantly saying “dead-ass” like a goddamn Ass Murderer.

Personally, my ass is alive and well, thank God. It’s my constant companion and we’ve shared innumerable intimate moments together. I’ll admit that I’ve sometimes taken it for granted, but still, whenever I hear about someone’s ass passing away, I can’t help but feel a pang of sympathy, although that might just be gas.

I don’t think I really registered how offensive the term “dead-ass” was until my friend Bort had a shit so big his ass almost died of ass-phyxiation. The poop was the length of an adult ferret and the width of a ripe tomato. I can remember the harrowed look on his face and how he looked so much thinner after that experience. I think all of us have seen those photos of Kim K or Snooki’s ass after they sit for too long and can definitely confirm that ass-death is real, and it’s a problem in the United States.

There are plenty of alternatives to the word “dead-ass.” Whenever I want to underscore the fact that I am being serious, I open my eyes up really wide and contort my mouth into a half-frown. People usually interpret the meaning of this expression correctly. It’s just that simple.

I dream of a day when the robot overlords, or whoever runs the government in the future, will make it illegal to say “dead-ass”. Then all the dead asses of the world can finally rest in peace.